


Happy Birthday, Shiro!

by valethra



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Birthday, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Happy Birthday Shiro (Voltron), Klance if you squint, Light Angst, broganes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29759223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valethra/pseuds/valethra
Summary: Shiro isn’t one to accept gifts and lavish celebrations, but the Paladins won’t let him get away with getting NOTHING on his birthday.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith & Shiro (Voltron), Shiro & Voltron Paladins, Shiro & Voltron: Legendary Defender Team
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Happy Birthday, Shiro!

**Author's Note:**

> not actually sure if, in the original timeline, Shiro was around long enough to celebrate his birthday, seeing as i plan to do one of these for every original paladin and my little timeline starts with Keith, whose birthday is in late October, and takes place very shortly after everybody leaves earth. just pay it no mind.

Takashi Shirogane is slowly becoming accustomed to life in space.

Maybe that isn’t the right phrasing. He was used to space itself— to the dark vacuum, the cold, the distant pinpricks of light and the great distance from home. But he was on board a Galaxy Garrison flight then, before he was thrust into alien captivity that he can hardly recall.

Shiro is beginning to LIKE life in space. That, maybe, is a better way to put it. This time, he has something that resembles the shape of a home, and he has friends. Old friends (a boy he half-raised, two others he remembered as young recruits, the daughter of an important mentor and colleague) and new friends (an alien princess and her often overbearing second-in-command). He has allies in the form of friendly aliens. He has plenty of equipment to train with, a sort-of-sentient ship to pilot, and a room that he has been allowed to customize to his liking. Said room looks messy, but looking at the things he’s tacked onto the wall makes him feel alive, somehow. Like he’s left proof that he exists.

It’s those posters, strangely enough, that land him on this conversation with Coran and Allura. Keith is there, too, pretending to take a nap. Lance is near him on the sofa with his arms thrown casually across the back of it, signature smirk firmly in place and directed at nothing .

Coran asked Shiro about the way he chose to decorate his room, and that led them to the topic of human culture, which led them to the topic of how old Shiro actually is. Coran’s eyebrows raise at the number.

“I would have thought that you were older,” Coran says, stroking his chin. “Not that human ages make much sense to me, anyway. Or that you _look_ particularly old. It’s about demeanor, you know.”

“How old ARE you, anyway?” Lance asks, smirk widening into a mischievous grin. Coran huffs.

“One should never ask a gentleman such a question!” Coran crosses his arms and turns up his nose at that. Shiro has already gotten the impression that Coran is in denial about getting up there in years. The equivalent of a man in his late fifties to early sixties, he guesses. Whatever that number is equivalent to for the long-living Alteans.

“To answer you,” Shiro says, casting aside Lance’s teasing for now, “I get that a lot. I started piloting young, though. I set records for it.”

Keith stirs. Once his eyes are open, he squints in Shiro’s direction as he repositions his head. He wants it to look like he just happened to overhear while trying to find a more comfortable way to lie down.

“That reminds me... your birthday is coming up, isn’t it?”

Shiro blinks. He looks up at the ceiling. Lance and Allura give him expectant stares.

“Oh,” he realizes aloud. “I guess you’re right.”

“Don’t tell me you forgot your own birthday!” Lance says in the sort of voice one uses to address a toddler that has fallen down and scraped his knee. He looks concerned. About what, Shiro doesn’t really know. That feeling has somehow rubbed off on Allura, who pouts.

“I-I didn’t exactly _forget_ ,” Shiro protests. “I just don’t usually celebrate it.”

“You forget all the time.” Keith’s accusation is point-blank. Shiro’s shoulders slump.

“It’s... easy to forget. It doesn’t even exist most of the time.” Lance and Coran give him perplexed stares. “...The twenty-ninth,” he adds. “I was born on a leap year. Most years, I have to celebrate the day before, or the day after.”

“ _Oh_.” Lance’s eyebrows raise. “That’s... kinda cool! I guess it didn’t occur to me that people could have that birthday.”

“People can have any birthday,” Keith grumbles, shooting him a glare. Lance returns the expression. There‘s no real bite to it on either end.

“Now, now— I’m afraid I’m rather lost,” Coran interrupts. Allura laughs sheepishly.

“I agree,” she says. “What, exactly, is a ‘leap year’?”

“Oh, that? On earth, we divide up our years a bit strangely, because they don’t end in an exact number of days. So every four years, we add all those extra hours up into an extra day. Every other year, the month of February only has twenty-eight days. I was born on the extra day.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re cursed,” Keith taunts. Shiro clicks his tongue.

“I’m not CURSED,” he argues. “Just a little unlucky.” He smiles. “Or maybe I’m really lucky? If I hadn’t been taken by the Galra none of this would have happened.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Allura agrees. “Coran and I would still likely be sleeping soundly in our cryogenic chambers right about now.”

Valid points, to be sure, but Keith still looks dissatisfied. He frowns at the ceiling. Shiro will have to ask him what‘s up later. Keith has always been a bit of a troubled kid, and he often has a lot on his mind. Maybe he‘s just homesick? Shiro thinks that‘s unlikely, though. Keith doesn’t exactly have a lot of family and friends back home. Shiro can think of one person, maybe, that Keith wants to see, but he tries not to dwell on that, lest he dampen his own spirits. As the leader of Voltron— the role model for these kids and a representative of what Earth has to offer— he needs to be steadfast. Even when it really, really hurts.

Coran’s arrogant-sounding laughter cuts through that train of thought.

“ _Leap years_ ,” he echoes in a mocking tone. “What a ridiculous concept!”

“Your planet rains hot rocks!” Lance retorts, indignant. Coran just shakes his head. Shiro doesn’t dare address the fact that Coran’s planet doesn’t exist anymore. He certainly doesn’t want to remind Coran if that temporarily slipped his mind.

Later, while training with the droids, Keith breaches the subject once more. The subject of birthdays. He obviously wants to do something for Shiro, which seems almost out of character.

“Weren’t you nothing but complaints when they threw your party?” Shiro reminds him. Keith hides his face behind his hair.

“That was different,” he insists. “Nobody told me, and you know I’ve never liked all that attention.” He looks around to make sure that no one else is around and listening. He can’t have them thinking he‘s _nice_ or anything, after all. “But... I mean, I had a good time. You were there.”

“I certainly was.” Shiro smiles as he reflects on that impromptu party. It isn't often that he sees Keith let his guard down. Which took him a while to do— he spent half of the event with his arms crossed and shoulders raised apprehensively— but it was a start.

“Maybe it’s a good team-building thing. Hunk really appreciated what you and Lance did for him. And you KNOW you deserve to have a day to yourself.” Keith is almost scolding him now in some strange role reversal. Shiro shrugs.

“I... never did like traditional parties,” he admits. “The formal type. It’s just not for me.”

“Why?”

Shiro’s smile turns a bit sad.

“We... didn’t have a lot of money growing up. It was just my grandfather and me. And after he passed, I spent so much time being juggled around... usually the family I was with didn’t know me well enough yet to throw me a party. And that was if I was there long enough to have one at all.”

“I’d say that’s all the more reason you deserve one,” Keith huffs. Shiro shakes his head.

“I never liked the ones that I did get. They felt... I don’t know. Obligatory? Insincere? It just felt like a waste of precious money. I would have been just as happy with a card.”

“But you had to have done SOMETHING. With your grandfather.”

Shiro pauses to think that one over. He doesn't often think about his childhood in Japan, because it seems so far away now. But those memories that he does have are fond ones.

“...My grandfather and I... we would just spend quality time together, I guess. It’s about the sentiment for me, you know? We went fishing sometimes. Or played board games, maybe watched a movie. There didn’t have to be presents and a song and a cake.”

A long silence. Keith opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but just stares at the floor. He can probably relate in some way.

“Right,” he says, just to say something.

“We’ll be landing on Arus tomorrow,” Shiro reminds him, changing the subject to something less personal. “Why don’t you focus on that? You ought to get out of the castle every once in a while.”

Keith snorts.

“Speak for yourself! All you do is train!”

“You're right.” Keith is disarmed by the honesty. “I was planning on getting out. I have to practice my diplomacy, right? Allura’s going to help me with that. She’s a natural.”

“So are you?” Keith’s face scrunches up in confusion.

“Yes, well.” Shiro laughs. He's never been one for flattery. “I did have to practice sucking up to the higher-ups, but I’m definitely not used to royalty. Or intergalactic politics. It’s a whole new world, even for me.” Shiro musses Keith’s hair with his prosthetic hand. Keith winces at the cold metal on his tender scalp. “I’m gonna get some sleep. You should go to bed. If I find out you stayed up sword-fighting all night again, you’ll be in trouble.”

“Yes, SIR,” Keith replies sarcastically. He gives a weak attempt at a salute.

* * *

When Shiro goes to bed— early, as he always does, like some sort of old man— the other Paladins spring into action.

They try to, anyway. That action is quickly stalled. The issue is Shiro himself.

“You know he’ll refuse a real present if we try to give it to him anyway,” Hunk says as soon as he’s swallowed a mouthful of cookie. Keith doesn’t want any part of this particular late-night batch. He doesn’t trust any cookies that are bright purple.

“And he did say he doesn’t even like parties,” Keith mumbles. “So... even if we threw one, it would be more about us than him. And that’s not nice.”

“It certainly wouldn’t tell him what we’re trying to say,” Pidge agrees. She looks like some sort of gremlin with her hair pulled into tiny pigtails and her eyes framed in dark circles that almost mirror the shape of her glasses. Her tiny hands fumbling for snacks from the shelter of her too-big sleeves only make it worse. They remind Keith of a raccoon.

Lance is the polar opposite of Pidge when it comes to nightly routines. He wears an expensive-looking robe and plush slippers and his face is coated in a layer of cream, his hair wrapped in a towel. When Keith asked him about it he just said something like “beauty is pain”. Whatever that means.

“He’s soft,” Lance says. Keith can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult just yet. “He _would_ probably be happy if we all just got him cards.”

“ _Ugh_ — that feels so lazy, though,” Hunk groans. “I should at least bake something for him.”

Keith shakes his head.

“He doesn’t like sweets.”

Lance recoils in horror.

“Who doesn’t like sweets?!”

“Shiro. He only eats dark chocolate. That’s about it. ...He actually likes vegetables.”

“What a weirdo,” Pidge sighs.

“Yeah,” Keith concurs, “he’s weird.”

“We could MAKE cards,” Lance suggests. His tone says he isn’t very confident about the idea. A lot of his arrogance seems to be a facade.

“I can’t draw!” Pidge whines.

“You don’t have to draw a picture,” Hunk supplies. “You can just make cutouts. Or lettering. If we had stickers—“

“I don’t think he’s interested in our first grade craft projects,” Keith says, wincing. Lance shrugs. He glares at Keith (again).

“You think of something, then! If you’re so smart.”

Keith tries to think while the others stare at him, which makes it that much harder. He does have an idea, though.

“...I guess the important part of a card is what you put in it, right? The message. He did say he’s more about the sentiment.”

“So that’s it, then!” Pidge perks up, chirping like an actual pigeon. “We’ll write him letters!”

Everyone looks at Lance, for whatever reason. Maybe because he was the one to suggest the cards in the first place. He shrugs his shoulders, again. Keith notices just then that they‘re quite broad. Pointy, almost.

“I’m not very good at that sort of thing, but... it’s worth a shot. I’m sure he’d appreciate it a lot.”

“It doesn’t have to be anything fancy,” Hunk assures the others. He taps his own chest. “It just has to come from the heart!”

Pidge mimes the motions of vomiting on the floor at Hunk’s overt mushiness. Lance flings a balled-up napkin at her head. Keith just chuckles. Corny as he can be, at least Hunk means it when he says things like that.

They disperse not long after that. They still have a couple of days to prepare. One more night of travel, then Arus in the late afternoon. A day to catch up with the Arusians. Shiro will probably be so busy that he won’t notice if his comrades are up to something. And then they can really and truly surprise him.

It’s the least the Paladins can do for him. 

* * *

With two whole days, it should be easy to write a letter. 

It‘s just a letter, right? All that Lance has to do is write down what Shiro means to him. As a mentor. As a leader. As a friend. 

It should not be difficult. But the words don’t come to him, as they often don’t. He is so accustomed to shielding his sincerity behind a joke. It's hard for him to cast it all aside. To be honest about how much somebody means to him. About his own feelings and insecurities. To lay those things out on the table has always been near-impossible for him, and that habit has apparently gotten worse since he’s acquired Paladin’s gear and a robot lion— literal armor and weapons with which to shield himself. 

He doesn’t think he‘ll knock on Keith’s door to ask for help, but he does. Keith is clearly surprised to see him. He scowls. 

“What do you want?” 

“Help me,” Lance blurts out. He shoves his pile of papers into Keith’s chest. Keith looks down at Lance’s hand as if it disgusts him. Lance would normally take great offense to that, but Keith doesn’t like being touched in general. He forgot about that. He withdraws his hand and his letter with it. “I can’t spell.” 

“No?”

“No. I need an editor. I don’t wanna look stupid,” Lance explains. Keith rolls his eyes. 

“Why not ask Hunk?” 

“He’s not much better than I am! And Pidge will make fun of me!” 

“You think I won’t?” 

“Hey, I know you suck at math.” 

Keith doesn’t argue with that one. He exhales, hard, and then steps aside, allowing Lance entry into his room. A room that, to him, seems almost depressing. Keith hasn’t customized it much. Looking at it, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Keith never actually sleeps in it. 

“Sit down,” he says. Trying to sound polite but with no enthusiasm whatsoever. He gestures at his mattress. He hasn’t bothered collecting furniture like tables and chairs, like the other Paladins, and so it is the only proper place to sit. 

“Don’t mind if I do.” 

Lance obeys the invitation. And he notices a folded pile of several sheets of paper with neat and bubbly handwriting on the fronts and the backs. He reaches for them, eyes gleaming. Keith’s letter, right? Keith has no intention of letting him read it. He smacks Lance’s hand away. Lance whines in protest. 

“I never said you could read mine,” he growls. Lance stopped taking that gravelly voice seriously a long time ago, so he tries once more to snatch Keith’s letter and earns himself a harder smack. “Leave it alone!”

“Why can’t I read it?! I’m gonna let you read mine!” 

“Because you can’t spell,” Keith reminds him. “I don’t need your help and I don’t want you judging me.”

“Dude. Why would I judge you? All of our letters are gonna be sappy as hell.” 

“It’s... _different_ for me. You know that.”

He leaves it at that. And Lance does know that Keith has known Shiro longer, or knows him better, or something. Neither one of them will really elaborate on it. He thought he heard Keith call him his brother once, but he could have been imagining things. When Lance tried to ask him about it Keith told him to shut up and stormed off.

“Fine, fine.” Lance’s figure relaxes as he gives up his mission to steal the letter. “Here’s mine, anyway. I think it’s as good as it’s gonna get, which isn’t saying a whole lot... Whatever. It needs editing and a spell-check.”

Keith takes the letter, and he is quiet as he reads some of its contents for about thirty seconds. Lance watches his brow get lower and lower with something like concern as he reads.

“You... seriously can’t spell. Like, anything.“

Lance makes an offended sound and draws back, touching a hand to his own chest.

“I would like to remind you that English is NOT my first language!”

“Oh.” Keith looks at the paper in his hand again, taking it in with some renewed interest. “I guess that English spelling wouldn’t make a lot of sense, then, huh...?”

“It doesn’t make any sense. At all. Doesn’t follow its own rules. I learned to talk by watching TV, but I never did the classes on phonics and stuff.”

“TV?” Keith gives him a quizzical look. “Can you really learn that way?”

“Oh, sure. Sitcoms and game shows. You pick up on it eventually.”

“...Shiro said he learned with newspapers.”

“ _He_ can probably spell, then!”

“Guess so.”

The next few minutes are mostly quiet. Keith goes through Lance’s letter and circles his mistakes and writes corrections in the margins, and then Lance copies the corrected version, more neatly, onto some fresh paper. Keith comments on the fact that Lance always writes in all-caps. He says it in a snarky way. Lance shoots him down by pointing out that Keith’s handwriting would not look out of place as a collection of boy band members’ names with hearts around them on the front cover of a middle school girl’s planner. Keith seems too surprised by the speed of that comeback to reply.

“It’s not bad,” Keith says eventually. He refuses to look at Lance when he says it. “Really. He’ll appreciate it.”

“I just wish I could put it into words, is all,” Lance admits. He doesn’t look at Keith, either. “God knows where I’d be without him. ...The guy is, like, my hero.”

“He’s like my brother.”

“So you DID say that!”

“Y— Yeah.”

Lance risks a look at Keith. His face is soft, gaze softer. Guilty, maybe. He looks strangely anxious about something behind the eyes. This whole thing was supposed to be a nice surprise for their friend, but it‘s dragged up things that Keith hasn’t been forced to address before. Keith would seemingly rather die than be too vulnerable for even a second.

Lance still doesn’t know why Keith has to be that way. If he‘s being honest, he wants to know. He wants to understand Keith, frustrating as he can be, because he IS Lance’s friend. And he can be a very good friend when he wants to be. When they aren’t arguing, Lance wishes that Keith would spend more time with the other Paladins instead of running off to god-knows where like he usually does.

Keith opened a very brief window that allowed a look at his real feelings, at something like emotional honesty, and he promptly shuts it before long. He finishes altering Lance’s letter and gives it back to him and retreats further into his nest of a bed, clearly intending to continue working on his own. Lance doesn’t have to be told twice— told once, even— that he is expected to go away. He stands and stretches, hearing his joints pop in a way that they probably shouldn’t at his age. But he’s also not supposed to be fighting intergalactic wars at his age, so he doesn’t think much of that.

“Well,” he says awkwardly, “thanks.”

“...Don’t mention it.” Lance makes it halfway to the door. “Do you think it can actually be good enough?”

Lance turns, confounded by that question.

“Do I think _what_ can be good enough? The letter?”

“Yeah. That.”

“It... doesn’t have to be. Sometimes actions speak louder than words, you know?” That doesn’t work. Keith continues to glare at the papers gripped too tightly in his gloved hands, the ones he is threatening to tear if he keeps that up. Lance sighs heavily and shakes his head in an exasperated way. He spins on his heels, hands on his hips, eyes on the floor. “It’s, uh...” He clears his throat. Why is this so hard? Keith’s eyes are like daggers and he can feel them without having to see them. He chalks that up to their knife-metal color. “It’s obvious that you have trouble doing this kind of thing. If Shiro knows you as well as you seem to think he does, then he also knows that, doesn’t he? So... even if the words aren’t perfect, the fact that you tried, that you did this at all, should be more than enough for him. Really. Don’t sweat it.”

“I kind of envy you sometimes.”

“...PARDON?”

“You know, you just make it look so _easy_. Being friendly and smiling and even— even touching people— I don’t understand—“

“It’s hard for me sometimes.” Keith is stunned into a very loud sort of silence. “It is. I have a guard up, too. It looks a little different, but... it’s still there.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I crack jokes and talk myself up so nobody can tell that I’m—“ Lance gulps. He doesn’t like to say this word. His eyes burn for a second, and for another second, he contemplates why he’s saying any of this to Keith, of all people. “That I’m insecure. Occasionally. About things.”

“...Oh.”

Keith nearly deflates. Looks strangely defeated. Lance can’t help but laugh at that. He sits back down beside Keith, who doesn’t shoo him away.

“I mean, c’mon. You had to know some of that was fake, right? Nobody’s THAT confident.”

“I knew you were playing it up,” Keith clarifies. “That most of it was probably bravado, but... I wouldn’t think you were ever so unsure of yourself.”

“Well, I am. Sometimes I wonder where I fit into this whole group. It’s easy to feel useless next to people like Shiro.”

Keith smiles a big, fond smile.

“It is.”

“B-But I have to figure that all this craziness happened for a reason. That Blue musta picked me for _something_ , right? And that I’ve managed to do a lot more than I ever thought I could have out here. We’ve saved people, Keith. Lotsa people.” 

Keith chews on his lip for a moment.

“Your family will be really proud of you.”

“Hm?”

“You know. Your mom, all the siblings you’re always talking about? They’ll be really proud. You’re a hero, too.”

Lance doesn’t know how to respond to that. He definitely wasn’t expecting it. Keith smiles slightly as he says it, too, which tells him he’s not lying. Lance’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times. He can only seem to think of jokes, of stupid responses. And he waits too long. The moment passes. The heart-door closes again. Keith’s head jerks in some kind of reset and he stuffs his letter into his pouch. His fanny pack. Whatever it’s called.

“I’m gonna go get something to eat,” he says suddenly. He gets up.

“...Yeah?”

“It’s been a while. Finish your letter.”

“I already—“

Keith is gone, and without a proper goodbye.

Lance looks around the room he has been abandoned in. A room that is not his.

“...You left me in YOUR room, idiot,” Lance snarks, and he snarks at no one.

It suddenly occurs to him that the walls are empty and that Keith does not have anyone at all to go back home to.  


* * *

Voltron is welcomed back to Arus with a parade. The parade that Lance had always dreamed of. It’s a tiny procession because the Arusians are a tiny people, but they did their best and the enthusiasm is what really counts. 

Shiro, as he promised, is busy for the whole of their first day back. When Keith next sees him he is frazzled and plainly tired. Hunk offers to make him something to eat. Shiro refuses. He always refuses. Hunk makes him something anyway. The ingredients here are difficult to work with, but he manages.

Though he’s busy, he is not oblivious. He knows that Keith is hiding something because he’s such a terrible liar, and if he’s not mistaken Lance is a little more attentive than he usually is. He asks a strange number of questions over dinner and Katie— no, Pidge— is taking notes for some reason. She says she’s working out a theorem. Shiro wouldn’t know any better if she was, so he doesn’t press the issue. 

Then, the next day, Hunk and Pidge both skip breakfast. Keith and Lance are up, and they fight over the last of the cereal (it was a big deal that they found any to begin with) until Shiro offers to make one of them some (blue-ish and alien) eggs instead. Lance accepts the offer, albeit begrudgingly, after giving Keith a strange look. Keith knows better than that by now. Lance probably regrets stepping down when Shiro burns their eggs. Keith snickers at Lance’s misfortune, and Lance says nothing aloud of his dissatisfaction as he eats his terrible omelette and mutters under his breath. Something like “I can’t BELIEVE you can’t cook”. Which Shiro can’t help but crack a smile at— he can’t believe it either. 

Shiro is just about ready to head out with Allura when he notices her standing a bit too stiffly. Coran, too. Allura bounces on her heels, reminiscent of a schoolgirl with a crush. Does she have chocolates or something? Or is it some other surprise? She’s looking around the room like she thinks she’s being discreet. Coran is literally whistling. 

“Did you need to discuss something with me before we leave?” He asks point-blank. Allura flinches. Her surprisingly youthful personality stands in stark contrast, as usual, to the formal gown that she now only wears for these kinds of occasions. 

“N-No! ...Or, rather, not yet. We must wait for the others.”

“The others? The Paladins?”

“Who else?” 

Just then he hears them approaching, and in what sounds like a stampede. Lance’s heels squeak as he slides across the floor in his attempt to bank a hard right into the room. Keith takes advantage of that delay and pushes Lance into the doorframe as he runs past him. Lance shouts something at him, but it‘s too late. Keith wins. Probably just the right to brag about it later, but still. 

“Hey,” he huffs, trying to act like he isn’t out of breath. Lance glares at the back of his head and grumbles to himself, something about “that stupid mullet”. 

“Hey,” Shiro parrots at him, grinning. Keith instantly pouts. He often has trouble figuring out when people are teasing him, but not with Shiro. “Did you all need something?”

Pidge and Hunk have arrived, at long last. Pidge tried to catch up. Her short legs mean that she didn’t stand a chance and she wheezes for air, hunched over with her hands on her knees, while Hunk strolls is with not a care in the world, not having bothered himself with racing. 

Pidge has something in her hand. Lance’s are shoved into his pockets. Keith is fiddling with his pouch. 

“You did remember, right? What today is?” Keith asks. “You didn’t forget AGAIN, did you?!” 

Shiro has to contemplate that for a second, and he can hear Keith getting antsy, but he manages to get the words out before Keith can yell at him.

“N-No, I remembered. I’m twenty-six today.”

“Well, well! Happy birthday, Shiro!” Coran shouts too enthusiastically. He wants to act like this is all one big coincidence and like he hasn’t been in on whatever this is. Shiro chuckles.

“Coran,” he reminds him, “you were _with us_ when I told you my birthday.”

“But he IS getting old,” says Pidge. “His memory isn’t what it used to be, I’ll bet.” Coran gasps in horror. She just sticks her tongue out. She can be impish from time to time, but Shiro likes that about her. It keeps them all on their toes, and that’s a welcome thing sometimes in the dark and lonely distance of space when you’re millions of light years away from everything you’ve ever known.

“This is all beside the point at hand, of course,” Hunk says loud enough to distract from the near-argument that‘s threatening to form on the side. “Shiro, uh, sir—“

“ _Hunk_. You don’t have to call me that.”

“Right. Well, it’s, uh, my understanding that you refuse to accept birthday presents. Is that true?”

“It is.” Shiro shrugs. “I’d say I’m a little old for them, anyway.”

“You say that like you’re forty,” Keith scolds. Shiro ignores that for now. Hunk isn’t done.

“Right, right. But, you know you still deserve SOMETHING special, right? It’s the one day out of the year that you’re allowed to make all about you, and you never do that.”

“Am I supposed to?” No one answers. “I told you all that you didn’t have to get me anything. Any funding that we get our hands on has to—“

“We didn’t spend any money!” Pidge protests. “It was Lance’s idea! Kind of.”

Pidge turns to look at Lance. Hunk, too. They’re both giving him parental stares, like they’re expecting him to confess that he was the one who stole the last cupcake or something like that.

“I... GUESS it was kinda Keith’s idea, too,” he admits, and Shiro could laugh at how much he looks like he’s in physical pain at having to do so. Keith smiles. He probably wouldn’t if Lance could see his face, but at the moment he’s still looking at Shiro, and Shiro won’t say anything about it if he doesn’t.

Keith finally opens his pouch, and he hands Shiro a stack of papers that have been folded up into thirds and sealed with a sticker. A happy little sun.

“The stickers aren’t mine,” Keith clarifies before Shiro can even ask. He doesn’t say whose they are, but Lance raises his hand and grins. That answers that.

“We all took the time to pen letters for you,” Allura says. “To express our appreciation for all that you’ve done, at the very least, if you have no intention of letting us honor you in any other way.”

She pulls her hands from behind her back at long last. Her letter is much nicer-looking than Keith’s is, done with what looks to be some kind of official parchment with a planetary seal, her signature perfectly elegant. She and Coran are succint enough that they each stuck to one page. Lance’s letter, on the other hand, is on what looks like six pages of looseleaf paper torn directly from a ruled notebook.

“Y-You don’t have to read them now!” Lance blurts put, frantically waving his arms around as he notices Shiro’s eyes on the first page of his. “We just thought you’d appreciate it. You can keep them and read them whenever.”

“I _do_ appreciate it.” Shiro clears his throat and wipes at his eyes, which are burning all of a sudden. He smiles. “You didn’t have to do something like that.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Keith mutters. “It’s the _least_ we could do.”

Allura nods before she steps forward. She does so quite formally, but the smile on her face is girlish. Shy, even. She produces a circlet made of blue and purple flowers that Shiro imagines her carefully weaving with her own fingers.

“It’s  _your_ day, Shiro.” She places the fashioned crown upon his head. “You’ll be our guest of honor today, so I so expect you to be a perfect gentleman.”

“Right,” Shiro says, and his voice is strained. He coughs and the others laugh at him as he dabs at the corners of his eyes again.

Shiro spends the day being fawned over by the parade guests as he and the other paladins are presented with gifts from grateful Arusians. They feast, and they dance, and they watch a play recounting the events of their fateful meeting. Shiro turns in even earlier than usual, but he doesn’t go to bed. He stays up for several hours to read and re-read the gifts that  _really_ matter until it’s early in the morning and time has escaped him.

Those letters stick with him.

He memorizes every word, every paragraph, and can hear the prose in the voices of the ones that wrote each one.

They keep him company much later, when he is alone and confused and trapped in the confines of something not dissimilar to space, but in a place all its own, where no one can hear him and he can do so little to help. Not quite heaven and not quite earth, his body long gone and only his spirit remaining there. Some place in between it all with a name that escapes him.

“I miss you, Shiro. I don’t know what I’m doing. You were wrong about me.”

_ No .  You’re wrong about you . _

He watches Keith cry in the cockpit of the black lion after it has selected its new pilot. He knows that he cannot reach out a reassuring hand to touch him with and knows that any words he says won’t be audible. He cannot explain why he chose Keith, why the lion chose him because he chose him. He cannot tell him that he is there, still watching, and still has no intention of giving up on him. He can’t.

So he thinks on that letter instead, reciting it to no one in particular like a poem, and he hopes that the lion, in her infinite compassion and wisdom, will understand. 


End file.
